


Too Far, Too Fast

by gunpowder_and_pearls



Series: Clint Barton oneshots! [2]
Category: Avengers
Genre: Angst, Bad Big Brother Barney, Betrayal, Circus Era, Clint’s Past, Family, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt Clint Barton, Pain, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sad Ending, poem style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowder_and_pearls/pseuds/gunpowder_and_pearls
Summary: The day Clint was betrayed by his only real family, it was the day he finally fell.





	Too Far, Too Fast

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really know what this is, I just thought of this randomly. Lmk what you think!
> 
> (May become part of a Clint one-shot series, idk)

Clint was gasping, stuttering, white noise roaring in his ears. 

He’d heard the quiet whispers drifting from the Swordsman's trailer and hesitated, slinking to the doorway to listen. 

The silhouettes of his brother, of Trickshot’s powerful form, of the Swordsman with a gun in hand, stood out against the light they’d turned on. 

For a moment Clint had almost walked away. Then the words _ Carson _ and _ money _met his damaged ears and he’d turned back. 

Fury had filled him, making him feel bigger than he ever was, like a bear raising itself on to its hind legs. 

He’d confronted them, eyes focused on Trickshot, and he’d felt powerful as Trickshot seemed to shrink beneath him. 

He’d felt as powerful as he feels balanced high above the crowd in the high wire, their gasps cheering him on.

He’d felt powerful. 

For a moment. 

Then the white hot pain of a blade being thrust into his stomach had sent him to his knees, hands grasping and mouth gaping. Staring, staring, staring, up into the cold eyes of his brother. 

His mentors and his only link to his childhood had walked away, without leaving a single word or glance behind. 

So now he lay, bloody hands holding tight onto that high wire. 

But he was slipping, only hanging by his fingertips. 

  
The wings that always held him up, as he performed for the cheering crowds, the spotlight making him feel as though he could fly, crumpled.

He fell. 

Too far, too fast. 

And unlike all those times when he practiced, there was no net underneath to catch him. 


End file.
